


Faded

by scalira



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scalira/pseuds/scalira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the tumblr prompt: "we have a lot of mutual friends so we see each other more than two broken up people usually do and i know we’re not really close anymore but you’re wearing that stupid (adorable) hat you always wore when you were upset so tell me what’s wrong because it’s literally killing me to see you look so sad” AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nessa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nessa/gifts).



The first time Malia wears the hat, Stiles doesn’t get it.

She shows up with it when she crawls through his window one night, bringing in the cold and icy skin when she gets in bed next to him.

She doesn’t explain why she wears the faded pink thing. She just shrugs off her clothes till she’s only dressed in her underwear and the hat.

Stiles knows Malia is a strange thing. He decides it’s better not to ask.

Instead, he pulls her closer and presses a kiss onto her shoulder as if to ask her if she’s okay. She doesn’t reply.

She sleeps with the hat on that night.

* * *

The second time she wears the hat is after she found out Peter was her father.

She doesn’t blame him anymore, not really. She can look him in the eye again and her kiss doesn’t feel foreign anymore. She shows up with it to a pack meeting, unusually quiet and avoiding eye contact with everyone.

She doesn’t talk all night, not even when Stiles purposely orders a meatless pizza to get a reaction out of her.

Eventually, everyone finds a reason to leave. Liam is supposed to work out with Mason, Lydia has to study (everyone knows that’s a blatant lie, but the banshee can see Malia’s in distress), Scott and Kira make up a story about having to help Kira’s mom with something.

Then there’s only Stiles and Malia.

The werecoyote stares at her hands in her lap, doesn’t respond when Stiles plops down next to her and takes them into his. He tries to rub some warmth in her cold fingers. His girl is still always cold.

“Are you okay?” He finally asks.

Malia manages to stay quiet for a full minute before she sniffs. He can see a tear fall behind the curtain that is her hair.

“Hey,” he gently whispers as he wipes away her hair to look at her face. He moves to take off her hat, but her hand shoots up to keep the thing in place.

“Malia, what’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

“It’s - it’s nothing,” Malia says, turning her body away from him. It’s something she still does sometimes; running away. Maybe not physically, but she can get lost in the woods in her head just as much. Only Stiles knows how to lead her back to him.

So he gets up, moves over to her and crouches in front of her, putting his hands on her knees.

“Mal, _please_. I promise you’ll feel better when you tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help. Let me help.”

She shakes her head and he catches a glimpse of her tear stroked face behind her hair.

“You can’t help. Not with this.”

“Let me try.”

She sighs, pushes away his hands as she stands.

“Do you really want to know what’s wrong? I have _nobody_  left, Stiles. My mom and sister are dead, my father isn’t even my real father, god knows who my real mother is. I’m all _alone_.”

She looks like the realisation just struck her, eyes big and tears spilling.

“I’m all alone,” she whispers.

And then, just like that, he watches her crumble. Her legs tremble, can’t carry her weight any longer. He moves forward immediately, catching her before she hits the floor. She grips into his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her alive and his arms wrap around her shaking body like they have never belonged anywhere else.

It’s the first time he sees her cry, and it’s heart breaking.

Her desperate sobs rip through her throat, fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt and forehead pressed against his cheek. He feels her tears drip onto his neck and pulls her closer, tries to absorb some of her pain so she doesn’t have to bear it.

Stiles feels useless, helpless. All he can do is stroke her hair and comfort her until the sadness subsides.

It does, eventually, after his legs have gone numb and there are no sweet nothings left to whisper. She pulls back almost embarrassed, ready to put on her armour again and get back on the battlefield. But he keeps her with him just a bit longer, can manage to say one last thing before she flees back into her imaginary woods, before she pulls away.

“You’re not alone, Malia. You have Scott now. Kira, Lydia. Me. We’re your family now. Hey.” He tilts her chin, gently kisses her trembling lips.

“I would never leave you behind, okay?”

It’s not what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her how much he loves her, how she means more to him than his own life. He wants to tell her how he would give her the moon if she asked, how he would rearrange the stars to spell her name if that would please her.

But Malia understands things better in animal terms, and for her, not leaving her behind means even more than saying I love you.

* * *

The third time she wears the hat is after she found out her biological mother is after her, and Stiles finally gets it.

He locks her into his arms without saying anything, kisses her head where the hat covers her hair.

Malia never was good with words. Gestures, though, and symbols. _That_ she was good at.

“Whose hat is it?” He asks.

Malia hugs him just a bit tigher before replying.

“My sister’s,” she whispers against his chest.

“My mom bought it for her one summer. It was way too big for her, but she told her she’d grow into it.”

Then she exhales, her breath shaky.

“She never did.”

Stiles rubs her back in an attempt to show his support, lets his chin rest on her shoulder.

That’s when he says it. The words roll over his lips like they have been waiting to get out for a while.

“I love you.”

Malia stills in his arms and for a terrifying moment Stiles is sure he just fucked everything up, chased her back into her imaginary woods she rarely visits anymore.

But then she looks at him, and a watery smile brightens her face.

“I love you too.”

* * *

Malia wears the hat less and less after that, instead just talks to Stiles about anything that’s bothering her. She’s becoming very good with words, and Stiles is always willing to listen.

But then something happens and everything changes. He distances himself, walks away from her.

For a split second, he even thinks he hates her.

But he quickly realizes he doesn’t hate _her_. He hates himself. And he’s afraid she does too.

And when he sees her with that old, faded hat, he doesn’t think his heart could hurt any more than in that moment.

It’s after everything calmed down again, when Lydia is safe and the Beast and the Dread Doctors are dealt with. The villains have chosen to leave the pack alone for now, the chimera pack is broken up into lost teenagers after the death of their alpha and the Desert Wolf is dead.

Not by the hands of Malia, though. She couldn’t do it, not after all the trouble she went through to save the chimeras. The Desert Wolf came to her end by a simple bullet through the brain, shot out of Braeden’s shot gun.

Malia has a lot of reasons to be sad and it’s honestly none of Stiles’ business. He doesn’t have the right to ask how she’s doing anymore, not after he took her heart and stepped on it as if to kill a cigarette. But he still cares about her, and he can’t stand seeing her so sad.

His plan is to go to her house later that day, but when he’s at the cemetery that afternoon to visit his mom, Malia is there too.

His heart immediately sinks to his stomach as he approaches her from behind, reading the names on the gravestones.

Malia starts talking before he can, twisting the hat around in her hands.

“It’s today.”

“What?” Stiles asks, sinking to his knees next to her.

“It’s nine years today.” She specifies, letting a tear roll over her face.

“They died nine years ago today.”

“Oh my god, Malia. I’m so sorry.”

He wants to pull her to his chest out of instinct, but stops himself right in time. He has to remind himself that he lost that privilege when he stepped out of the car that one day weeks ago.

Malia looks at the hat in her lap.

“I thought today would be a good day to return this to her.”

“Why would you return it?”

She looks at him and smiles. It’s not her usual, brighter than the moon smile, not even a shadow of it, but it’s more than he has gotten in weeks. He feels his lips automatically respond in a similar smile.

“Because I have words now.”

Then she brings the hat to her mouth, kisses it and puts it on the grave.

“Thought you might want this,” she says to the grave.

“Maybe you finally grew into it.”

After a last glance and a rearrangment of the flowers on her mother’s grave, she gets up and pats her butt to get rid of the dirt.

Stiles gets up too, sheepishly looks at her.

“Do you - uh, need a ride home?” He offers.

Malia hesitates, then sighs.

“I’d like that, yeah.”

They walk back to his car in silence, and halfway through their walk, Malia slowly reaches for his hand.

He doesn’t pull pack when she intertwines their fingers, even has to stop himself from pulling her into his arms where she belongs. One step at a time.

Even though it’s cold out, Malia’s hand is warm.

And somehow, that’s the only thing that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Nessa!


End file.
